


Five Times Jack fucked Harold Saxon (and One Time He Didn't)

by extryn



Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extramarital Affairs, M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Phone Sex, Political Expediency, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Timey-Wimey, Torchwood Three
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-04-14 22:32:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14146017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/extryn/pseuds/extryn
Summary: Yeah, Jack thought. Lips like those were made to suck cock.The newly-elected Minister for Defence has a few issues to discuss with Torchwood. Captain Jack Harkness has other plans.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set during those 18 months following Harriet Jones's fall from power, and the beginning of Harold Saxon's political career. Jack's been working twice as hard after Torchwood One recently became defunct, and Jack and the Doctor haven't even realised each other exist, let alone the Master. Shame - he can't say the same thing about them.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _at the end of the day it's a human trait_   
>  _hidden deep down inside of our DNA_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was meant to be a 5+1 that never quite got out the gate. Then I realised I really, really needed to write this. Lyrics are from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rxaTAFXgykU), a song which deserves at least 30% of the credit for getting me off my arse long enough to write this.

_July, 2007._

 

‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this,’ Owen remarked, side-eyeing Jack in the lobby.

Jack automatically went to touch his pistol before he remembered he’d left it with security. ‘Tends to happen when you insist on having a whole pizza to yourself. You’ll be having bad feelings for the rest of the night.’

Owen sighed, taking a brief look around the whole room. ‘Look. Who is this ponce, anyway? He graduates, drops off the face of the Earth, then lands a job as MOD? All I’m saying is to watch out.’

Jack snorted. ‘Typical, really. All that money from Archangel mobile, I’d be more surprised if he didn’t end up in politics.’

‘I mean it,’ Owen continued, ‘Tosh has been all over his records. He’s a fraud.’

‘We go through this every election,’ Jack sighs, ‘Blah, blah, _transparency_ , _partnership_ , bullshit. Shake hands, then get back to doing our jobs. I knew I should have taken Suzie.’

A man carting a manila folder slipped through the wooden doors, briefly glancing at them, and headed out of sight.

‘I’ll piss off, then, since I’m obviously needed here,’ Owen murmured, his gaze following the man.

Jack was watching him, too. ‘You’ll miss all the fun.’

The doorhandle snapped open, and they both turned to catch their first sight of the mysterious Harold Saxon, offering a hand in greeting. ‘Ah, gentlemen, it’s a pleasure, really – come in, come in!’

Jack ignored it, bracing the door open with his foot. He gave a grin instead. ‘Mister Saxon himself, the pleasure’s definitely all ours.’

Saxon pulled up a padded chair for both of them, swinging his own out from behind a mahogany desk to sit in front of it, facing them. He gave a wide, sincere-ish smile – not bad, not bad at all – and gestured for Jack and Owen to join him.

Jack took a seat first, Owen hesitating and glancing at him before following suit.

Saxon leant forward in his chair, fixating on Jack. ‘At last, the famous Captain Jack Harkness. I’ve heard _so_ much about you.’

Jack crossed his legs, smiling and shaking his head. ‘Good things, I hope. I’ve got something of a reputation for them.’ He could feel Owen’s eye-roll from two feet away, and added, ‘And this is Dr. Harper. Another of my crew.’

‘Well, I’d hate to waste any of your time. To business, then?’ Saxon asked, bracing his hands on the arms of his chair.

Jack waved a hand. ‘Yeah, be my guest.’

Saxon made a show of getting up and latching the door shut behind them, twisting the window-shades until the street below was obscured from view. Jack lost interest in the theatrics quickly; _damn_ , if Saxon didn’t have a fine ass. He wore some well-tailored trousers that perfectly hugged his rear end, and Jack could just make out the lines of a pair of briefs underneath them – and he quickly met Saxon’s face as he turned back around. He dressed left, too. Nice.

Saxon picked up a heavy folder and rested it on his lap, flicking through plastic sleeved-documents. Jack caught sight of a few words – Torchwood, for one. Nothing they hadn’t seen before.

Boring, boring, boring – but it gave Jack plenty of time to rake his eyes over Saxon’s body. His shirt was fine cotton, but thin, and his jacket unbuttoned, and Jack could just make out the lines of his torso underneath. Lean, but a little soft around the edges. It was a contradiction mirrored in his face; well-set eyes and angular cheeks, but they were framed by a rounded jaw and adorable button nose that made him look boyish. And those lips, cherry-red and full in the middle – yeah, Jack thought, lips like those were made to suck cock. His eyes flicked up, caught Jack staring, and narrowed in response. Or maybe Jack was imagining things.

‘I understand your organisation has considerable...history,’ Saxon began, cool as a cucumber, ‘and that’s afforded you a lot of leniency in the past. Of course, I respect the work you’ve done for Queen and Country,’ he flicked forward a few pages, glancing up with presence, ‘But I’ve not been elected to give blessings. I represent the people, and what the people want is accountability.’

Jack gave him a lazy smirk, spreading his legs. ‘Come on, give us some courtesy. Save that crap for the cameras.’

Saxon smiled politely and closed his folder. ‘Fine. You’re accountable to me, personally. As any matters of defence are. That includes any of your alien technology. You can do whatever it is you do, and you’ve got my full authority, but I expect briefings. Information. Pertinent findings, if you come across them. You’ll find my government can make your jobs very unpleasant if you want to go pulling stunts across Britain.’

Owen snorted at that, and Jack laughed, too, and said, ‘Look, Mr Saxon, this isn’t the eighteen-hundreds. If I had a dime for every time I had this conversation...Torchwood One is long gone. I don’t operate that way.’

Saxon’s fingers tightened on his folder. ‘Oh, of course. I’d almost forgotten – the one at Canary Wharf, the Doctor. He’s a national security crisis all of his own. If there are any sightings it’s imperative I’m informed.’

‘Sure,’ Jack said, eyes fixed on that mouth, on his lips pulling apart as he took a breath. ‘Owen, you wanna meet me out front?’

Owen shot him a look. Oh, he’d be hearing about this one for weeks at the Hub. ‘No thanks, I’m taking the rest of the day off.’

Jack watched him leave, turning back to face Saxon when he shut the door behind him. He grinned eagerly; he couldn’t help himself. ‘So, what’s a pretty boy like you doing in an ugly place like this?’

Saxon almost balked, but Jack knew better. You didn’t get as far as he had without a competitive streak, a taste for the unconventional. And there was something in those unnaturally bright, amber eyes that was _definitely_ unconventional.

‘You’re right,’ Saxon replied, smoothly, ‘You _do_ have a reputation.’ He left Jack’s gaze and started to chew on a lip, chuckling to himself.

‘Something funny?’ Jack asked, making a point to stare at his mouth, his neck.

Saxon shrugged. ‘I didn’t think I’d get involved in a scandal _this_ early into my career.’

Jack kissed him. He flinched away, an involuntary little jerk that made Jack slow down and press his lips against Saxon’s cool, dry ones, smoothing his hands over the front of Saxon’s shirt. Jack pulled away for a quick breath and came back harder, catching Saxon’s upper lip between his own and feeling it with his tongue. He sucked gently, working his fingers under Saxon’s jacket and running them along the sides of his chest – and there, Saxon’s mouth parted, and Jack drove his tongue deep.

He came away gasping. Jack shrugged his arms out of his coat, breathless and laughing, and held a palm to Saxon’s jaw. His skin was too soft to be real – hell, Jack wondered if he’d ever seen the sun in his life. ‘You’re way, way too cute to be a politician.’

‘I’ll have to take that as a compliment, won’t I?’ Saxon smirked, dabbing his mouth on the corner of his sleeve. ‘I have an appointment in another ten minutes, I’m afraid I can’t miss it.’

‘Busy, busy,’ Jack teased, already dropping to his knees. Very soft carpet. His tax was paying for this crap. ‘Ten minutes? Plenty of time.’

Saxon leant over his chair, chin cradled in one hand. ‘We can’t all be as eager as you.’

Mischievous, Jack splayed his fingers over Saxon’s crotch – fucking liar, he was half-hard already – and brought his mouth over his fly. Lips parted, blowing warm, moist air, Jack breathed over him, ‘We’ll have a lot less time—’ he pressed his mouth against the head of Saxon’s cock, catching the bulge of fabric between his lips, ‘—if you make me ruin these, first.’

Saxon unzipped himself, giving his cock a few brief strokes. Between that, and Jack’s gentle, warm breath, it rested in front of him, fully hard, and Jack took him in hand and slipped his mouth over the head. He tasted clean – unusually so, like he’d sprayed his dick with cologne before coming to work. Maybe he had. Jack sucked, pulling the foreskin back with his spare hand and licking at the slit, then flicking his tongue under Saxon’s frenulum.

Saxon remained poker-faced, save for the one hand gently guiding Jack’s shoulder. No wonder he’d made it to cabinet. Determined to get a reaction, Jack took him deeper, swallowing around his length and taking him all the way. He held it there a moment, then worked his mouth up and down, jerking him off with lips and tongue.

Saxon held him steady, and pulled out, breath coming quicker. ‘Stay there,’ he said, his voice low and calm. He stroked himself fast, hard, and Jack made note of the white-knuckled grip he used to bring himself to the edge. Sensing he was close, Jack opened his mouth and gazed up, giving him a look he hoped conveyed every single filthy thought he was having about how he was going to take him, next time. Then Saxon was coming onto his tongue, over his lips, erratic and sudden. He hadn’t made a single noise.

Jack was determined that next time, he’d scream.

Jack smacked his lips, sucking Saxon’s cock clean. He shuddered as Jack ran his tongue over the sensitive head, but gave no other reaction as Jack wiped a stray drop of come off his chin, licking it from his finger.

‘That make you feel a bit better about Torchwood?’ Jack asked, arousal making his grin much filthier than it needed to be.

‘Hmm,’ Saxon smirked, ‘I think we ought to discuss the issue a little more thoroughly.’ He tucked himself back into his pants, arranging his shirt and zipping his trousers. ‘Three minutes, Captain.’

Jack got to his feet and shouldered his coat back on. ‘Same place, same time next week?’

Saxon shook his head. ‘I’ll call you. Take care, now.’

Jack paused, hand on the heavy doors. ‘Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.’


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we live, we die, we steal we kill we lie_   
>  _just like animals, but with far less grace_

_September, 2007._

It was only typical that Saxon didn’t, in fact, call. Until he wanted something, and as far as Jack was concerned, it’d have to be a pretty special something to justify interrupting him at half-past four in the morning, with a cold pizza stinking out his desk.

‘Yeah?’ Jack groused, tossing a report to the side.

‘Captain Jack Harkness,’ came the obligatory reply. Smug as ever, smooth and crisp like Saxon had just finished flossing. It was infuriating when Jack could feel the stubble prickling across his cheeks, the dryness in his throat becoming a tired rasp, and the Weevils below would not _shut up._

Giving as good as he got was less of a personal principle and more a way of life in Jack’s mind, but the attempt didn’t so much fail to land as fail to ever leave the ground. ‘You might be a pretty boy, but you’re not that pretty.’ The words already felt exasperated, but by the time they’d left his mouth they were outright snappy. ‘I hope this is really important.’

Saxon spat out an indignant splutter approximating a laugh. ‘It’s important. I’m afraid I’ve landed a critical defence contract.’

Jack slumped over his desk, pressing fingertips into the corners of his eyes. His headache stubbornly refused to do anything but throb harder in response. ‘Uh-huh.’

‘It’s an ambitious project. We’ll need some specialist equipment, a few prototypes ready-to-go in order for R&D to work on upscaling.’

Jack frowned. ‘Wait, who’s landing what? Can't your contractors manage R&D themselves?’

‘I _am_ the contractor, Captain,’ Saxon informed him, a hint of annoyance under his polished veneer. ‘Archangel Group offers a better product, in a shorter timeframe, on a tighter budget. I’ll personally be overseeing development from both a public and private capacity – the sort of bureaucratic efficiency this country needs, I might add.’

Jack snorted. ‘Ooo. You’re a bad man, Mr. Saxon. Bet that’s landing you some mega bucks.’

‘Hardly. It’s costing my shareholders a Q4 loss. This is purely in the public interest,’ Saxon said, and then paused. ‘My job is  _important_ to me, Captain. I promised a stronger Britain. You should know how _important_ it is to be able to defend ourselves against alien hostiles.’

‘Okay, wait a second, here—’ Jack cut across angrily, but Saxon obviously hadn’t called to listen.

‘—You should know how _important_ I find it to keep my promises,’ Saxon finished, now dropping all pretence of clemency.

Jack raised an eyebrow. What, was that supposed to pass for a threat? ‘Oh, like you promised you were gonna call me, you mean.’

‘I’m calling you now, aren’t I, Captain?’ Saxon responded, coolly.

Enough of this. ‘You want alien tech. Some kind of weapon, I’m betting,’ Jack added, with no small measure of disdain. ‘For a government project, that you contracted your _own_ company for – and at four in the morning, can I just mention that part – that you can’t complete without Torchwood’s help. You’ve got to be shitting me, right?’

‘I’m deadly serious,’ Saxon declared. ‘And you will be helping, I’m afraid, because the Queen loves me so _very_ much. It took a lot of work to stop her defunding your little enterprise, after the Canary Wharf fiasco. It’d be a shame if I was forced to inform Her Majesty that your operations had ceased to be in the national interest.’

Jack’s headache raged behind the back of his eyes. ‘You’re a smug little bastard, aren’t you?’

A pause. Then, warm and dangerous, something electric hummed within Saxon's voice. ‘Would it help if I bought you a drink?’

God, the twenty-first century. What a fucking mess. He couldn’t wait to be off this time, this planet. Jack took a deep breath, rolling it out around his words. ‘A drink,’ he agreed, letting his voice drop into something lower, huskier. ‘A big, stiff, _long_ drink.’

-

‘This is disgusting,’ Saxon snarled, voice warm and spiced with bourbon. He leant back against the line of basins, trousers undone, glancing downwards at the soap-stains and stray pieces of toilet paper, and refused to place his hands anywhere near the flooded bench.

Jack fixed him with a dark, urgent glare. ‘Oh, you think?’ Never mind that this was probably the flashiest bathroom Jack had ever fucked someone in. ‘Turn the fuck over.’

Jack surged forward, plastering himself against Saxon’s lips, tongue – cold with the lingering alcohol – and inexpertly shoved his hands between them to grasp a handful of trousers and underwear and shove them down around Saxon’s thighs. Funny, gripping the counter wasn’t beneath him now. Jack broke them apart, panting hard, and shoved Saxon around to face the mirror and ugly futuristic basin that floated out from the wall in an attempt to impress its patrons.

Jack parted Saxon’s arse with rough hands, hot from the whisky, urgent from the erection painfully mashing itself against his fly, and spat noisily over Saxon's arsehole. Jack was satisfied to see him flinch, a sharp intake of breath that Jack relished as he fished a condom from his pocket.

‘You done this before, gorgeous?’ Jack murmured, pausing long enough to press a wet kiss to the base of Saxon’s spine.

Saxon laughed at that, and there was nothing good-natured in it. ‘Have some _queer_ smear me across other people's fluids like a dishcloth? No, Captain, that’s a first.’

Smirking, Jack got to work, pressing his face against Saxon’s arse and swiping the flat of his tongue over that warm, firm hole. He felt Saxon tense, and then ease his weight against the counter, before Jack continued. Wet, long, massaging strokes of his tongue, until Saxon’s breath caught involuntarily in his throat. Jack eased back into a crouch, admiring the saliva oozing down over tight, full balls.

‘I dunno,’ Jack said, voice roughened. He wiped his mouth with his palm, gathering some spit to reach around and rub Saxon’s cock with. ‘I’d say you _like_ being fucked this way,’ he hissed, punctuating the word with a rough squeeze, ‘wet, sloppy,’ he added, feeling that fat cock grow hotter, fuller, ‘All you public schoolboys do.’ Not waiting for a response, Jack dove in with tongue first, pushing past that hard ring of muscle, stroking Saxon tight and hard with his left hand. He remembered how he liked it, that vice-like grip he’d used on himself, right up against the edge of pain, and with his spare hand Jack pushed a finger in alongside the wetness of tongue.

Saxon jerked against him, a quick, throaty little hitch of breath. Jack held himself there, still working Saxon’s cock, waiting for the sting to fade. He tasted – he tasted of sweat, salt and the darker musk of sex, and then there was something else. Something that fizzed on his tongue, like ozone, like—

A hand found his own and batted it away from where Jack had been fisting his cock, Saxon’s other hand grasping for purchase on the edge of the basin. ‘The infamous Captain Jack,’ he growled, but his breath was coming short and Jack knew, he _knew_ he’d broken through that perfect façade, ‘Fumbling around like a teenager, wasting time with _foreplay_. Having some technical difficulties?’

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. The outrage was just priceless. He pulled out; too fast, too hard, making Saxon squirm with discomfort. Pants off – fuck, he was so hard it hurt – a corner torn open, wrapper discarded on the floor, hand almost trembling as he rolled the condom on. He held himself at the opening of Saxon’s hole; warm, wet, softer now than when he’d started.

Reflexively, he paused, a gentle hand easing Saxon’s hips up to meet him and giving him a reassuring stroke. He opened his mouth to ask—nah. The smug little prick didn’t deserve a warning.

Jack dug his nails into Saxon’s hipbones, and forced him down onto his dick; further, further, and if it was dry on his end, it had to be hurting Saxon worse. He could tell; a hiss, a breath sucked in through gritted teeth, but Saxon only pushed back into him harder. Jack withdrew a little, drove himself in deeper. And again, and again as the slickness of sweat and spit started to ease the way, and _there_. Balls pressed tight against cool, slick flesh, Saxon’s body squeezing him like a vice.

‘You’re freezing,’ Jack commented, determined not to let the tremble in his knees, the catch in his breathing show.

Saxon’s body was still tense, still adjusting. Jack heard nothing but a couple of harsh, ragged breaths, and then a quiet, jagged-edged, ‘No fucking tea breaks, Harkness.’

Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He rammed into him, gripping his hips and slamming Saxon against the sinks with each thrust. He couldn’t hear Saxon above the roar of his own breath, the groans he let out when Saxon’s hole clenched around him every time their bodies jolted against the marble. But he could feel the muscles going slack beneath him, the rhythm of Saxon’s hand over his own cock. He could feel Saxon lose his control, angling to get Jack further inside him, chasing his orgasm with single-minded determination.

Jack let himself stop thinking about him, let sensation and need take over. He ignored the body beneath him, the torn cry when Saxon made himself come and Jack shoved in as deep as he could and held it there as Saxon’s muscles squeezed, and - and—

Jack’s breath came back to him in a whoosh. In the aftershocks of his orgasm, he unclenched his fingers from their white-knuckled grip over Saxon’s hips, groaned as he pulled back and left that warm, gently fluttering pressure. He staggered aside, leaning heavily against the sinks, and laughed with whatever breath he’d managed to get back.

‘Fucking hell,’ Jack panted, grinning.

Saxon hesitantly got to his feet, pupils dilated, jaw slack. The edge of a sink was imprinted across the corner of his jaw. Saxon straightened up, wiped away as much of the mess as he could with a thickly-textured paper towel. As he tucked himself back in and stood up straight, Jack saw a muscle twitch in a well-disguised wince. Mask restored, Saxon ran his tongue around his teeth, neatened his shirt and tie in the mirror.

Finally, he turned to face Jack, an eyebrow raised. ‘I don’t do morning afters.’

Jack gave him a knowing grin. ‘Well, that’s lucky, because I’ve got zero desire to take you home with me. Pretty boy.’

Saxon smiled, then. Slow and deliberate, and in the dim light of the water features, Jack thought it might even be soft. ‘I’ll call you,’ he said. ‘Goodnight, Captain.’

Jack watched him leave, buttoning his suit jacket over the water stains on his shirt. He hated the guy, really he did.

Still. ‘Goodnight, Minister.’

Saxon paused, chuckled to himself, and closed the door behind him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _i'm not the only one who finds it hard to understand_   
>  _i'm not afraid of god, i am afraid of man_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has unfinished business after 1x06 of Torchwood.

_November, 2007._  

 

‘ _Thank you for contacting the Department for Defence. Please note that our office hours are 8am to 6pm, Monday to Friday. For general enquiries, please leave a message. For media enquiries, please hang up and dial zero two zero…’_  

‘You can’t be _serious!_ ’ Jack snarled into the receiver. He threw it down on the cradle, and when that failed to achieve anything, ‘Fuck!’

A quiet voice volunteered itself from behind the doors. ‘Jack?’ 

Oh, well _done,_ Harkness. Really going for gold today. ‘Oh, hell. Tosh, I’m sorry.’ 

Tosh peered around the door, staring at him with a gentle understanding – even if her expression was a little weary around the edges. It was at odds with the way her fingers hesitated and shook as she fiddled with a mobile, turning it over and over in her hands. 

God, Jack hadn’t even realised she was still here. He gave her something that hardly even passed for a smile and winced as he tried to climb to his feet. The adrenaline was fading out of his system, now. Things ached. He needed sleep, a drink. Something. Who knew what he’d ever done to deserve Toshiko Sato. 

He blew out air through his cheeks. Oh well. ‘Tosh, can you trace a number for me?’  

This close to her, Jack could see the places where she was coming undone. The angry red scratches trailing across a shoulder, the stiff fold of her elbows as she crossed them protectively over her body. ‘Of course, I can. Why?’  

Still bright, still focussed. Tosh didn’t know the meaning of staying down – hell, he’d almost lost her because of it.

‘Dialled through my office line, a month or two ago. Outside number, not Welsh. It was probably timestamped around four in the morning. That’s all I got.’ 

‘Right. Shouldn’t be too difficult to track down,’ Tosh agreed. She chewed her lip, a tightly-clenched fist drumming the mobile against her elbow. ‘So, where to next?’

‘God, Tosh,’ Jack groaned, ‘Go home. Get some rest. It’s just a call.’

She fixed him with one of those looks. Too kind, too knowing for Jack’s comfort. ‘Are you going to stay here tonight?’ 

Jack closed his eyes, fighting an unfathomable urge to shout at her. Just to have someone to shout at. ‘Please. Just go home. Sleep.’ 

Tosh placed a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll forward through what I find,’ she said, and gave it a reassuring squeeze. ‘Goodnight, Jack.’ 

Whatever energy he had left seemed to leave with her. He drew a breath, ignored the complaints piling up on his body, and tried to get a fucking grip. There was work to be done.

 

 

‘You shouldn’t have this number,’ came Saxon’s familiar, rehearsed voice.

‘You have mine,’ Jack argued. ‘It’s important.’ 

A sigh echoed down the line, a rush of white noise that only made Jack crave sleep he wasn’t about to get. ‘Very well.’ 

Jack scrubbed at his eyes with the palm of one hand, bracing the receiver with the other. ‘I need some help. We were investigating some disappearances. Seventeen people all missing from the same area, around the Brecon Beacons.’ Abruptly, he realised he had no idea what to say next. ‘Oh, hell. You’re never going to believe this.’ 

He could practically hear Saxon’s smirk. ‘Try me.’ 

Fine. Jack took a slow breath. ‘We managed to find some of the bodies. All of them were in the same condition, butchered up like carcasses. I’m talking skin, tissue, guts – everything. Stripped down to the bones.’ He paused, expecting a reaction that didn’t come. ‘The villagers were behind it, Saxon. Just regular people. They were eating the bodies.’ 

From the other end of the phone, Jack heard a giggle. No; a proper laugh. Big surprise. 

‘I’m serious,’ Jack repeated. ‘We investigated it, everything. No extraterrestrial involvement. I’m talking the full Texas Chainsaw Massacre, here, in Wales.’ 

‘Oh, no,’ Saxon dismissed, still sounding distinctly amused. ‘I don’t doubt this was human activity. So, why on Earth did you call _me_?’ 

Jack’s jaw dropped. ‘ _Why_ did I call you? Why wouldn’t I call you! You’ve got a whole town of mass-murderers, come on. You really wanna find that out from _The Daily Mail_ , huh?’ 

‘This really isn’t a Defence issue, Captain. Certainly not out-of-hours, on my private number,’ Saxon added, an echo of that laugh still lingering about his words. Arrogant. ‘I suggest you try dialling 999.’ 

‘Harold. Can I call you Harold?’ Jack hissed, seizing the edge of the desk. ‘Seventeen people murdered, and that’s only the ones we knew about—’ 

‘—I prefer Harry,’ Saxon interjected. 

 ‘—multiple suspects, organised group, and I reckon I shot – probably _killed_ – half of them. The police were involved in this. My team almost,’ Jack started, and belatedly realised he was shouting into the phone. He drew a breath. ‘You wanted Torchwood’s tech for your aircraft carrier deal? Time you started paying for it.’ 

Saxon went quiet. Jack could almost hear the cogs turning. ‘Your team almost, what?’ 

‘Nothing,’ Jack said. ‘They’re fine, now.’ 

‘ _Now_ ,’ Saxon echoed. ‘And you have good reason to believe law enforcement are criminally involved.’ 

‘Yeah. Just ask the one whose hand I blew off,’ Jack spat into the receiver.  

‘Alright,’ Saxon murmured, as if speaking to himself. When he spoke again, his voice had neatly slotted back to all-business. ‘I think we ought to discuss this privately. I want you to take down an address.’

 

 

Jack let Saxon pour him a drink. The ice was rattling in the glass as he sipped it: aged, strong. It burnt his mouth like ash. 

Saxon sat across a table, hands steepled. ‘You’re shaking.’ 

‘I’m tired,’ Jack corrected irritably. ‘I’ve been awake for three days.’ 

‘We can do this another time, Captain.’ He rested his chin in one hand, looking somewhat more dishevelled than he’d sounded. He’d loosened his tie some hours ago; his collar had begun to turn up at one edge, his shirt creased.  

Jack still managed to raise an eyebrow in disbelief. ‘You ever driven from London to Cardiff?’ 

Saxon took a mouthful from his own glass. ‘No,’ he answered. ‘Never had any reason to.’ 

‘Right,’ said Jack, ‘Well, I didn’t spend three hours on the M4 to _do this_ another time.’ He indicated the room with an accusing finger. 

An awkward silence settled between them as Saxon eyed him off, swirling the whisky around his glass. ‘Tell me about your team. Torchwood.’ 

Jack snorted. ‘You’ve read the file. You know, you’ve got a bit of work to do on your empathy act. Can we just cut the crap? 

‘Not what I asked you, Captain,’ Saxon responded, barely missing a beat. 

Jack sighed in frustration. He rubbed at his eyes, trying to dispel some of the blurriness, grabbed the cold glass and let the sensation push him a little further. ‘They’re good people. They risk their lives every damn day.’ 

Saxon lifted his head off his palm. ‘Thankless job, isn’t it?’ 

Jack shook his head. Oh, screw this. He resolved to grab a room at the first motel he could find and threw back the rest of his drink. ‘How would you know?’ 

‘What do you expect me to do, Harkness,’ Saxon sighed. ‘Order a Royal Commission into cannibalism? Drive them out of the country with rising electricity prices?’ 

Jack gaped at him. 

Saxon motioned with his drink. ‘Well, go on. You seem to think you’re owed a favour – what do you want?’ 

Aghast, Jack briefly found himself on the back foot. ‘Aren’t you lot worried about terrorism? You’ve got an organised group, an organised group with radical and violent ideology – mass-murdering civilians out there.’ 

‘With political intent? I think not,’ Saxon said.

‘You’ve got a counter-terrorism force,’ Jack argued. ‘Call it a pre-emptive strike, whatever.’ 

Saxon laughed and shook his head. ‘I’ll just run that by the Welsh Assembly, shall I?’ 

‘Oh, come on. They don’t even _have_ a defence portfolio.’ 

Saxon leant back, tapping his fingers against the edge of his glass. He looked at Jack; through Jack, like a bug under a microscope. ‘Why is it so important to you? So important that you’d belittle yourself by asking me for help, that you’d drive – what, three hours, did you say – just to change my mind?’ 

He didn’t respond. Jack met his eyes instead; stared up at him from underneath the hunch of his aching neck and shoulders, from beneath the crease that seemed to have become permanently etched between his brows. The silence spooled out between them like a threat.

Jack wasn’t honestly sure what he’d expected. ‘You don’t get it,’ he said. Shook his head. ‘I’ll stop wasting your time.’ He braced an arm against the couch he found himself embedded within, and eased to his feet. 

‘Hold on.’ 

Already halfway to the door, Jack’s shoulders slumped. ‘Yeah?’ 

A frustrated sigh. Saxon stood up and insinuated himself between Jack and the exit. His eyes briefly flicked over Jack’s body. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’ 

‘That it?’ Jack asked flatly. 

‘That’s the best you’re going to get,’ Saxon answered. No hesitation, just a tone that suggested he was likely to change his mind if Jack decided to press the issue any further. 

Figured. Jack nodded, ‘Okay. Thank you.’ He reached for the doorhandle, and felt a leer threatening to steal across his face. Why the hell not? ‘Goodnight, _Harry._ ’ 

Saxon laughed pleasantly enough. He still got the feeling it was _at_ him, rather than with him. ‘Is that all?’ 

‘What, were you hoping for a social call?’ Jack snorted. He doubted he had the energy to do more than roll his eyes, but even as the words left his lips, something in him ached to fling himself against that wall, to break himself on it just to see what stuck. 

‘I’d assumed as much,’ Saxon said, looking pointedly at Jack’s hand where it rested over the doorhandle. ‘Unless you had some other burning desire to drive halfway across the country for.’

Outraged, Jack’s mouth hung open in disbelief. God, he was going to punch that smug grin right off his underaged fucking face. Jack was sure he’d even tried – it was just that somewhere from his brain to his hands, the signal had gotten mixed up, and instead he was slamming Saxon hard up against the closed door and dragging hot breath over his neck. 

‘Fuck you,’ Jack hissed, and bit into Saxon’s lip. 

There was a muffled noise, a hand clawing into his shirt and pushing, and Jack intercepted Saxon’s wrist and pinned it against the door and kissed harder. Hard enough Jack could hear their teeth knocking together, could feel his lip bruising against the hard bone of Saxon’s chin. He gripped the back of his neck, threading fingers through the soft, downy hair, pulling those cool lips closer still. 

It felt so good; not to feel, not to think. To be nothing but hands and mouths and bodies. To know he was gonna hate this in the morning and he didn’t even _care_.

Teeth clamped into his upper lip, not at all gentle – Jack gasped, bloody _hell –_ and he ignored the screech of strained muscles to shove his knee up between Saxon’s thighs. He released Saxon’s wrist, held him there with the greater size and weight of his body instead, while his hands tore at the buttons of his shirt. Jack didn’t have the tenderness nor the patience to get more than half of them undone and just slid his hands beneath the fabric, roaming around the cool skin of his waist. He surged forwards again to press his lips to the skin he’d bared, mouthing his way fast and hard down Saxon’s chest, jamming his knee against the door and wedging his thigh against Saxon’s crotch. Like a butterfly pinned to a board. 

‘Couch,’ Saxon rasped, and Jack stepped back long enough to fling off his coat before taking the man and shoving him backwards onto the upholstery. He threw himself over Saxon, straddling his hips and leaning down to bring their mouths together again. 

A hand grabbed his hip, pulling him down over Saxon’s cock, and Jack’s whole body flinched with unexpected pain that had him seizing Saxon’s hand as if he was trying to strangle it. 

‘Shit,’ Jack stumbled, ‘sorry,’ and dove back into Saxon’s mouth because his lips were still burning. 

Saxon leant back and pushed Jack away before he could chase the rest of that kiss. ‘Stop.’ He shuffled onto his elbows, reached across to Jack’s clothes. ‘Let me see.’ 

Jack looked at him, dazed, needing. Shirt tangled over his arms and waist, breathing heavy, cock hard beneath his trousers, lips red and thick. Oh—yeah, right. Jack tugged his shirt out of his pants, shrugged out of his suspenders. Saxon was already undoing his belt, and if he was as desperate as Jack for a good fuck, the steady control of his hands did nothing to betray it.  

His belt and fly popped open, and Jack hissed in a breath as the pressure over his hip suddenly reversed. He shifted his trousers around his thighs – okay, yeah, that was a pretty spectacular bruise. 

‘Drove a tractor through a wall,’ Jack panted, by way of explanation, and grimaced down at it.  

Saxon still seemed remarkably composed for a man sprawled across a couch, half-undressed beneath him. He touched his fingertips to Jack’s side, mapping out the swollen skin where blood blossomed underneath. Jack shuddered, hypersensitive to the point where that touch felt too big, too much, and as Saxon followed the blue flush to his pubic bone, Jack’s breath hitched in his throat and became a moan. 

His fingers were cold – icy, even – as they found Jack’s softening cock and gripped it, and Jack found himself curled over Saxon’s chest, one hand braced beside his head, gasping harshly into his hair. Within seconds, his body remembered it cared more about how badly he wanted to come than it minded being battered and sore. Jack reached over to grip the couch and anchor himself as that cold touch turned warm and urgent. 

Saxon’s left hand came up to cup Jack’s face, tender and certain, fingers sliding beneath Jack’s ear and down his neck as he squeezed and rolled Jack’s erection against his palm. Something warm and rich was glowing under Saxon’s half-debauched, half-composed features – Jack even dared to believe it was _fond_ – and Jack’s eyes slid closed and he let it feel good. His hand came to rest at Jack’s collarbone, thumb brushing over his windpipe, and then he pulled Jack close by the back of the neck, leant up to murmur at his ear, ‘ _Let me._ ’ 

Jack did. He groaned as Saxon stopped touching him long enough to unzip his trousers, to bring his hips up until they were touching, and take both of them in hand. The pleasure was explosive; the impossibly soft skin of Saxon’s cock, the wet slip of precome turning the roughness of Saxon’s palm into slick pressure. Jack’s hips stuttered, not-quite in rhythm, and Saxon’s stroke became hard and ruthless and he drove himself up to meet Jack’s body on every thrust. 

The hand around Jack’s neck became a tight grip in his hair, tugging _just_ right, and Jack let himself be drawn close enough that he could mouth at the corner of Saxon’s jaw, suck and scrape his teeth on delicate skin over his jugular vein, and Saxon made a choked noise, high in his throat. 

‘Harkness,’ Saxon began, and Jack threw his body weight into each roll of his hips, drowning the unspoken words in a gasp. He shifted aside just for a moment, just enough to hook a hand under Saxon’s knee, yank his trousers out of the way and bend his leg towards his chest. Jack knelt astride him, one foot braced on the floor, gripping their cocks until he could aim their thrusts into the soft crease between groin and thigh and lever down hard on Saxon’s leg to squeeze them tighter still. Something ripped. The solid heel of a shoe tucked against Jack’s back, urging him on, until Saxon’s stomach and thigh were slippery with sweat and fluid, until the fabric of his trousers bunched up and rubbed like it should hurt but burnt exquisitely instead. Saxon came with a body-wracking spasm, that little cavity between leg and hip only becoming tighter and slicker as the waves of his orgasm made him tense, and Jack lost his rhythm and dove in again, again, and fingers found the edge of his bruise and pressed gently enough to feel perversely good, and Jack was coming, and coming.  

Intense, fierce, and over far too soon. 

He let go of his death-grip on Saxon’s leg and gently eased both of them into something less uncomfortable. Hell, they’d made a mess. 

‘Sorry about that,’ Jack grinned, peeling himself off. 

Saxon winced and collected his limbs, looking – at last – thoroughly shagged. ‘About what?’ he tried to say tersely, but the venom required a little more breath than he seemed to have.  

Jack pointed to the tear which had neatly ripped itself through the seat of Saxon’s trousers.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _humans aren't gonna behave as we think we always should_   
>  _yeah, we can be bad as we can be good_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear this was supposed to be slightly crackier than it ended up.

_Christmas Day, 2007._

God, his head hurt. Like someone was bashing a wrecking ball against the front of his skull—wait. No, that was his pulse.

Jack simply refused to be awake. Rolling to his side wasn’t the magic sedative he’d expected it to be, and instead brought into sharp clarity how the pillow felt like a board and the way that his head throbbed against it. His ears rang with last night’s beat, piercing, pulsing in and out—

Was that his _phone?_

Jack groaned, blindly threw a hand to the side, and grabbed the damn thing before it skittered off the table or made his head explode.

‘What?’

‘Captain Harkness,’ came the voice, and vaporised Jack’s hopes of ever getting back to sleep.

Jack hammered the _volume down_ button. ‘Yeah, who the fuck are you?’

‘It’s Harold Saxon.’

Oh, _brilliant_. Jack smothered the mouthpiece and groaned into his pillow. Maybe he wasn’t hungover. Maybe he was still drunk, because he was about five seconds away from hurling. He shuffled over onto one elbow, and _hell_ , his head hurt.

‘What?’ He wasn’t sure what else to say. ‘Now? It’s Christmas.’

‘Yes. You seem absurdly prone to invasions at this time of the year.’

Still too loud. Jack held the thing at arm’s length and closed his eyes. ‘You’re gonna have to use small fucking words, Saxon. Some of us have a life.’

‘Fine,’ the man snapped. ‘You need to report to me for debriefing. UNIT is going to help you sort through last night’s wreckage.’

Well, that made absolutely no sense. ‘Thanks for the concern, pretty boy, but my asshole’s gonna be just fine.’

‘Your bodily integrity is about to be the least of your worries. The Star, Harkness.’

‘Actually, it’s called _The Sun_ ,’ Jack said flatly. ‘What the hell is this about?’

A frustrated rush of air ground its way through Jack’s eardrums.

‘The Doctor was sighted during last night’s attack. Whitehall. Get dressed, come in, _now_. Otherwise I’ll have you arrested.’

‘Kinky,’ Jack added, but the little bastard had already hung up. Probably for the best; not his greatest work. He threw a hand over his eyes and tried to find enough courage to move.

Jack carefully levered himself out of bed, leaving - well, let’s just say they’d never made it to the part where you find out names - sprawled over one edge and snoring his bloody head off. Like a lawn-mower. The first battle won, Jack set about trying to find where the fuck they’d thrown his clothes. And maybe investigating the flat for a bathroom. One step at a time, that was how you got through these kinds of mornings.

 

Somewhere between a hot shower, a brief retch over the toilet, and the smell of hot coffee, reality filtered back into Jack’s pounding head. He flicked the news on.

It was hard to be anything but stone-cold sober after that.

 

Public transport shut over Christmas, Jack huddled in the back of a taxi and tried to hold onto his toast. Squinting at the tiny font of his BlackBerry as the car lurched around corners wasn’t helping.

The reports were grim. Hundreds injured, eighteen confirmed dead; the numbers projected to rise as emergency services finished their rescue efforts. Half of Southwark flooded.

Jack gave up on the text when it began to swim, and looked out the window instead. Empty, the city shrouded in a veil of cloud and amber smoke. And where had he been, while they were dying? Losing himself in a beat and a pair of hips rocking against his ass? Christ.

He hesitated over the call button. Gwen, home with Rhys. Owen, and…

Yeah. There was a reason he’d ran off to London.

Jack tried not to think about what the Doctor had to do with this.

 

UNIT personnel swarmed through the building like paparazzi; descending on the staff, brandishing phones and shouting orders. A temporary crisis response centre had been erected in the conference hall, and between the security cordons and general chaos, it took Jack ten minutes to muscle his way to an elevator.

He’d been expected. An armed soldier escorted him three levels below ground, the descent inching by in eerie quiet. His ears rang in the silence.

Stepping into the bunker, the quiet hung in the air like a bad smell. A low drone of activity buzzed underneath; a chorus of voices muttering off the shallow ceiling, over bare cables and unfinished concrete.

Amongst the susurrus was Saxon, waiting for him with briefcase in hand. He carried himself with such gravity that Jack almost felt sheepish for giving him lip - until he looked Jack up and down, suggestive. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smirk that sizzled through the atmosphere like electricity.

Jack grinned back. ‘I had a bit of a long night, too.’

That seemed to be the wrong answer. A frown jumped across Saxon’s face, and he jerked his head in the direction of a corridor. ‘We need to talk.’

Jack led the way, not missing the irritated stares of Saxon’s colleagues. He got the feeling his presence wasn’t entirely welcome.

Saxon indicated a small filing room, pulling the door shut behind them both. It was dominated by rolling shelf stacks, furnished with nothing but a pair of writing desks and a telephone. Saxon leant back on a tabletop and gestured for Jack to do the same.

‘All I know is what the news outlets have been reporting,’ Jack began, ‘What the hell was this? An invasion?’

Saxon didn’t answer for a long moment. He might have held himself with all the weight of the world; drawn, tense, nothing of that casual arrogance he favoured, but Jack had underestimated him. Something underneath it was alight. Burning, like a fever. ‘Perhaps.’ He caught Jack’s eyes, picking him apart with his gaze. ‘You arrived quickly.’

Jack clamped down on his expression and held it there, neutral. ‘I was in the area.’

‘Ah,’ said Saxon, with that delicate tone of condescension. He kept staring.

Something like dread was beginning to curl around Jack’s protesting stomach. Unsure quite what he’d walked into, Jack fixed Saxon with an equally uncompromising glare. ‘Are you going to tell me what this is about?’

The air seemed to crystallise out between them.  

Saxon spoke with a tone of voice Jack had never heard him use, didn’t know what to make of. ‘What do you know about the Doctor?’

‘Alien,’ Jack stalled, ‘Visits Earth a lot, used to work for UNIT.’

Saxon raised his eyebrows, expectant. Watching.

‘I didn’t realise this was an interrogation,’ Jack snapped.

A buzz came from Saxon’s pocket; he retrieved a mobile phone, glanced at it, and silenced the call. His eyes flicked back up to Jack for the briefest moment, just long enough to let him catch the beginnings of a smile. ‘I don’t know, Harkness. Do I need to interrogate you?’  

Jack’s mouth dropped open. ‘Oh, come on. Are we really doing this? _Harry?_ ’

‘This is a national, possibly international security crisis,’ Saxon insisted, gesturing at him. ‘Yes, _Jack_. We’re doing this.’

‘Fine,’ Jack snarled. ‘Yeah, okay, I don’t subscribe to the typical Torchwood view. Far as I know, the guy’s done a lot more good for this planet than any of us have. He’s not your enemy.’

‘I never said he was my _enemy_ ,’ Saxon corrected, acidly. ‘What I said - what I’ve always said - is that he’s dangerous.’

Jack felt his lip curling. ‘Then we’ll have to agree to disagree.’

‘You’ve met him, haven’t you.’ It wasn’t a question.

‘Yeah,’ Jack admitted. ‘Once. A long time ago.’

Saxon pulled out a USB stick. He leant forwards, dangling it off one finger. ‘Want to meet him again?’

Something in Jack’s face must have given him away, because Saxon didn’t wait for a reply. He reached for his briefcase and extracted a notebook computer. Milspec, impact-shielded, and thick enough it must have been outdated five years ago. Saxon set it aside to boot up.

‘The ship last night, the Star, belonged to the Empress of the Racnoss,’ Saxon began, with the air of a playwright.

Jack crossed his arms. ‘Never heard of them.’

‘—An ancient race, from the very beginning of time,’ Saxon continued, as if Jack hadn’t spoken, ‘Raging war across the stars, feeding off entire planets. The Racnoss were driven to near-extinction before this solar system was even born.’

‘How the hell do you know all this?’ Jack demanded. ‘This isn’t Torchwood intel, and I’d bet my right arm it’s not UNIT’s.’

Saxon glared at him, no longer bothering to hide his irritation. ‘I’ve had experts analysing this footage for sixteen hours. You wanted to know what happened. I’m telling you.’

‘The last survivors fled across the Universe. Their ship became the gravitational nucleus around which this planet was formed, lying dormant for millions of years. Until _someone_ decided to drill to the centre of the Earth and wake them up, signalling the Empress to return from the edges of the Universe to rescue her children. Wonder who that might have been.’

Jack set his jaw. ‘Torchwood One.’

Saxon smiled. ‘Very good, Jack.’ He pulled the notebook closer and entered his login, slotting the USB drive into a side port. ‘Last night, the Doctor was recorded setting explosives beneath the Thames Barrier in order to drown the last of the Racnoss.’

‘Sounds like it was successful,’ Jack muttered.

Saxon brought up a grainy square of footage. ‘Partially. The Empress escaped to her ship – I ordered a military strike before she could exit British airspace.’

‘You did _what!_ ’ Jack grabbed his forehead, which felt like it was going to pop. ‘You _attacked_ an unknown alien hostile, no intel, no mandate, you didn’t even _try_ to call me—what did UNIT have to say about that?’

Saxon scoffed. ‘Obviously, UNIT weren’t consulted. This is Britain, Harkness. My jurisdiction.’

‘This is exactly the reason Torchwood was created. To protect Earth from people like you, Saxon. You have no idea what you’re playing with,’ Jack snarled. ‘You want interstellar war to be your jurisdiction?’

‘I know exactly what I’m playing with,’ Saxon smiled pleasantly. ‘You could too, if you’d shut up for thirty seconds. Watch.’

The image jumped into life, and Jack found himself half-way across the room, grabbing the dim screen to wring every last speck of detail from it.

‘Hold on,’ Jack said, ‘It’s _him_? The one from Canary Wharf?’

Saxon wasn’t watching the video. Only Jack, and his reactions. ‘Who were you expecting?’

‘I didn’t – was anybody else seen with him? A girl?’

A finger came across, pointing at a blurry figure in a white dress. ‘The woman was identified as Donna Noble, secretary. She was incubated with particulate matter, used to awaken the Racnoss.’

Jack’s heart lurched. This Doctor – this new face – came after _his Doctor._ After Rose. The future, for both of them, at the same time.

Oh, _God_.

Numb, the rest of the footage played out in front of Jack. He barely registered it.

Saxon shut the lid. ‘When did you last have contact with the Doctor?’

Jack shook his head minutely.

‘I’m asking you a question,’ Saxon said. ‘When did you last make contact with the Doctor?’

Jack’s voice came out hoarse around the lump in his throat. ‘I told you. A long time ago.’

‘And since then?’

‘I joined Torchwood,’ Jack said, blank. ‘Are we done?’

Saxon stood up abruptly, encroaching on Jack’s space. ‘No. Not until you say whatever it is you’re not telling me.’

Pained, now, Jack glared at him. ‘There’s a lot of things I’m not telling you, and I gotta say, most of them are insults.’

‘It’s on your face, Harkness,’ Saxon said, voice soft. ‘Plain as day. Say it.’

Jack felt his jaw start to cramp with effort. ‘No.’

A hand flattened itself between Jack’s shoulders, skipping over his coat to settle at his waist. Urging him closer. ‘You were expecting someone different. Who?’ Gently, tenderly. Still an order.

So close now, they were nearly pressed against each other, close enough to kiss. And still not touching. His heart was racing, leaping up into his throat. ‘I wasn’t.’

Saxon leant in as if to bring their mouths together, then brushed past Jack’s cheek to touch his lips against the corner of Jack’s jaw. He could smell him; fresh linen, cedar and leather, that sharp tang of electrical smoke. Jack heard him inhale, felt his lips part below his ear and murmur, ‘Or maybe you were expecting a different face.’

Jack went rigid, startling against Saxon’s body. ‘You _know_ about that?’

‘It’s my job to know,’ Saxon answered. He gave no hesitation.

A firm, open palm rubbed across Jack’s hardening cock – _fuck_ –  thumb curling over the head, and his knees threatened to buckle with the sudden pleasure. ‘Oh, God. Yeah.’

Saxon gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Have you _never_ heard of “a time and a place”?’

Jack swallowed, having found his mouth suddenly dry. ‘The bad cop thing. It’s kinda hot.’

‘Hmm.’ The weight of Saxon’s hand shifted, curling itself around the outline of Jack’s cock, and squeezed until Jack was shuddering against him.

‘God,’ Jack moaned, ‘please, please tell me we’re done.’

‘We’re done,’ Saxon smirked, pulling away.

He could have left it. Could have walked out with the knowledge churning beneath his ribs, the numb grief that was just beginning to blossom. It was easier to dig his heels in. To refuse to feel for just that little bit longer. Jack grabbed Saxon by the elbows before he could turn away and threw them both into the shelves. They hit with a bone-jarring thud, the stacks rattling on their wheels, and Jack was already fumbling with his clothes, fingers shaking to undo his belt.

Saxon batted his hands away, tugging at his fly, not bothering to be gentle as he found Jack’s flushed erection and yanked it free. Jack liked it better that way, hissing at the bite of pain, aching for friction, for warmth, for volume loud enough to drown the rest out. His breath caught in a cry as Saxon wrapped a hand around him and stroked hard and dry and just the wrong side of painful.

As soon as Jack had begun to accommodate it, work with it, Saxon let go. He shoved down on Jack’s shoulder with enough force to unbalance him. A throaty, desperate noise of frustration left Jack’s lips, but he could feel his cock throbbing at the thought of getting down and taking Saxon in his mouth; making him scream instead, dizzy from the lack of air, making his own arousal build until it hurt.

Saxon already had his trousers undone, briefs pulled aside, and Jack pressed himself close against dark hair, panting with the force of his need. He felt Saxon’s cock filling against his cheek, summoned enough moisture to wet his lips, pressed them along the shaft. Above him, the sound of Saxon’s head hitting the shelves echoed in the tiny room. Jack anchored a hand at the base of his cock and wetly mouthed his way to the tip. He wasn’t fully hard, but Jack didn’t care, needed it too much. Didn’t give him any warning. Just opened his mouth and took him as far as he could go, swallowed down and went further still. Hand shifting to Saxon’s hip, Jack kept him there, seated in his throat, and felt the shudder that radiated down Saxon’s legs.

Jack needed a moment to overcome his gag, open up the back of his throat to breathe through his nose—yeah, that was it, there. A hand curled around the back of his neck and held him deep, and for a moment Jack faltered, lips parted, eyes watering, stomach clenching – and then he caught a thin breath, and started sucking.

God, it felt like being fucked, everywhere he needed it and nowhere he wanted it, and the helpless urgency of it spurred him on until he was milking Saxon’s cock between his palate and the back of his tongue, lips and throat working in time, short nails seizing the hair at the base of his skull.

A high-pitched, strangled noise came out between Saxon’s clenched teeth, and Jack groaned as if it was his own, would have cursed if his mouth hadn’t been full of dick.  

Saxon’s hips twitched forwards with the vibration, grip faltering, and Jack took the opportunity to pull back – catch his breath, circle his tongue around the tip, and just as Saxon was about to react to the loss Jack swallowed down again to the root. Fingers at the back of his neck anchored him there, sandwiching him between body and hands, impaling him around the fullness in his throat, and all Jack wanted was to be touched, fucked. But it wasn’t going to happen until Saxon came, and Jack worked his throat as if he might feel it too, if he could just suck hard enough for both of them.

Saxon’s breaths were coming quickly, now, and Jack hollowed out his cheeks and began to move. The hand at his neck gave him space to work with, directing him into a quick rhythm, and Jack flattened his tongue and licked in time, listening for those gasps and strained hisses of air.

Jack felt him stagger, curling in on himself, muscles tense, and he pushed down until his nose was mashed against bone and he couldn’t breathe, squeezing Saxon’s cock with the back of his tongue – and there it was, and Jack fought not to jump at the sudden burst of bitter salt and keep swallowing. He pulled back, catching another hit right in his throat, coughed, kept licking.

Breathing hard, Saxon pulled him off and rasped, ‘Touch yourself.’

Jack did, and the glide of his hand over his leaking cock was the sweetest relief. He found that he was already close, so sensitive he might as well be on the edge already. He clutched at Saxon’s body, urging him down until he was splayed on the ground with Jack, until he could reach Saxon’s mouth with his own. Between Jack’s slack-jawed gasps for breath, Saxon’s lazy exploration with lips and tongue, their kiss was messy, slick. Saxon drew him closer, the better to taste the corners of his mouth, determined to find every trace he’d left there.

‘Gonna come,’ Jack moaned shamelessly into his mouth, gripping himself tighter, breathing the same air as those cold lips, fighting past that final climb until he was there, at the peak, and it felt like it could last forever and he wished it would, wished it wouldn't—

But his orgasm crashed upon him like a breaking wave, and just as quickly receded out to sea, all foam and churning sand sucked out from under him. Sensation faded back into the periphery. They were lying there, messy, spent, and Jack felt nothing but sick realisation creeping back into the hole his need had left.

Jack pulled back, swiping his hand through the mess on his trousers. It was quiet. Uncomfortable.

It happened before he'd realised his mouth had opened. The words, spilling out to fill that uneasy silence. ‘He abandoned me.'

Saxon was staring at him, boneless but intent. Jack couldn’t look at him. 

‘Here,’ he said, handing Jack a handkerchief. Jack took it, wordlessly, and cleaned himself up. He sighed, leaning back on his hands.

Saxon was already on his feet, tucking himself back in, fixing his shirt. Like nothing had happened here. Something flickered across his face. ‘Why defend him, then?’ Saxon seemed genuinely perplexed. And maybe just a little bit pitying, if Jack wasn’t only imagining what he expected to see.

He was raw, inside and out. Throbbing with some uneasy combination of fallow lust and fresh adrenaline. ‘Because he made a mistake. If not before, then now.’

The phone buzzed again; Saxon’s. He silenced it a second time. ‘UNIT are on their way down. I trust any debris from last night is in good hands.’

Jack didn’t respond. He went through the motions of making himself presentable.

‘Oh, and Jack? This entire situation has been an _utter_ cock-up. Do you really think Torchwood is the right organisation to prove your worth?’

And maybe he was right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _you can see it on the news, you can watch it on TV_   
>  _you can read it on your phone, you can say it's troubling_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack and Gwen attend Harold Saxon's campaign launch, and the Saxons are Britain's Most Disgusting Married Couple.

_January, 2008._

 

‘ _Jack_.’ Gwen slapped his wrist away, looking for all the world like a disgruntled spouse. ‘Are you going to take this seriously, or what?’

Regretfully, Jack withdrew his hand, but couldn’t keep his gaze from following the platter of champagne flutes as it – and the rather well–set gentleman carrying it – wandered to another pocket of guests.

Gwen had that look on her face. The one that you might read as flippant, and it’d be the last mistake you ever made.

Jack sighed, and tried to sound more annoyed with her than he really was. ‘It’s a party, Gwen, you’re not supposed to take it seriously. Does everything have to be on the clock?’

She raised her eyebrows, demanding an answer they both knew she didn’t want to hear. ‘Oh, so this is a fun night out, is it? Shall I just call Rhys, let him know I’ve missed dinner for the third night in a row because my boss wanted to _party_?’

Jack winked. ‘You sure he doesn’t want to join us? I wouldn’t mind.’

Unfortunately, Gwen had long become inured to her boss propositioning her boyfriend, and merely sniffed at him. ‘Not really his type of thing, is it. Bit too posh for us _commoners_.’ Even as she scowled around the word, Gwen flagged down a passing waiter and snatched another three canapes off his plate. She bit into one savagely; a savoury tart, piped with salmon mousse and garnished with a fanned cornichon.

‘Oh please,’ Jack griped, and tried to pretend he wasn’t holding back a laugh. ‘He’s not _that_ bad.’

Halfway through a mouthful of witlof and kingfish carpaccio, Gwen glared at him.

For a moment Jack thought he might just get away with it, until his teeth lost their grip on the inside of his cheeks and he spluttered into laughter. Gwen chewed valiantly, lasted a few seconds before she almost choked, and then she was cackling too.

Winded, she looked at him like they were two schoolkids stuck in detention. Jack couldn’t keep from grinning. ‘Oh, you’re right, he totally is.’

‘Your boyfriend,’ Gwen added. ‘Seriously, Jack, what the hell are you doing? You’re not going to vote for him now, are you?’

Jack cocked his head at her. ‘You aren’t?’

‘Of course I’m not!’ Mortified, Gwen raised another bite of food to her lips. She paused mid–breath to squint at it. ‘It’s prawn, Jack, d’you want it?’

Jack certainly did not. Oh, but if he didn’t love her. Bright eyes and flare jeans and no bullshit.

Gwen’s eyes darted around the room and spotted an opening – a lady, introducing someone to her husband. She tugged on Jack’s elbow, dragging him past the couple at a rapid clip—and surreptitiously dropped the canape onto the woman’s unattended plate. She hurried them both out of earshot and went straight back to glaring at him.

Gwen continued with gusto, ‘One, he’s a slimy little bugger and a racist. Two, Tosh and Owen can’t find any records on him, like _zero_. Either he’s a fraud, an alien, or he’s got something big to hide. You just mark my words. And three, I can’t get any _bloody phone coverage_ since Archangel bought Vodafone _._ ‘

‘He’s a racist?’ Jack was astounded.

Gwen was searching the room for something. ‘He donated to UKIP, Jack, I’ll let you draw your own conclusions.’ She went still. ‘There. Look.’

Despite himself, he was already on guard. ‘What is it?’

‘Napkins,’ she whispered. ‘My fingers are greasier than your rear on a Friday night, and these are my good trousers.’

Jack cocked his head at her. ‘We _should_ go out partying sometime.’

‘That before or after he deports all the immigrants and gays?’

Sighing, Jack held his hands up in surrender. ‘Really, Gwen. Not that bad.’

Gwen grabbed his arm, and nodded at a small table across the floor. She was right. Beside two hot water urns sat a neat stack of glassware and a wad of napkins. She led the way.

It was an impressive turnout for a Sunday evening. The hall was already cramped, bustling with various boring–looking men in their shirts and ties and only the occasional cocktail dress to break up the monotony. The decorations were similarly monochromatic – tasteful clusters of black and gold ribbon, white balloons, muted floral arrangements of lilies and carnations. Elevated on a wooden platform, a lectern stood at one end of the hall and beneath it, _‘Saxon Is Your Man’._

Jack and Gwen stuck out like three children stacked in a trench coat. Arm–in–arm, they smiled their way through the growing crowd and with a sigh of relief, Gwen tracked down the drinks station and raided a fistful of napkins. They stood quietly a moment, swallowed by the current of bodies and handshakes and the rumble of voices trapped inside the walls.

Gwen tugged sharply on his coat sleeve. Wordless, he followed her around the back of the table into the privacy afforded by a tall stone–arched window. She stood a moment, chewing her lip. ‘I’m worried, Jack. I don’t like this. Does none of it bother you, at all?’

Jack gazed out. Condensation peppered the window–glass, casting a bleary vignette against the night skyline. Beneath them, an endless stream of brake–lights glittered across the windswept surface of the Thames.

‘Another corrupt politician, big whoop,’ he said. ‘I don’t care who’s in charge, Gwen. As long as we’re on the winning team.’

‘So much for outside the government, eh?’ Gwen murmured. She looked at him, her stillness worming away under his skin.

Jack did what he did best. Gave a rueful grin, and answered, ‘That was before I realised how much fun it was being _inside_ the government instead.’

 _That_ got a reaction. ‘Disgusting, Jack. _Disgusting_ ,’ she glowered. But Gwen Cooper wasn’t the sort of person who gave up, even if he could never tell if it was out of loyalty or spite. ‘What about Tosh, then? Don’t you trust her?’

And it wasn’t that he didn’t. They’d been at him for weeks, ever since the Star had catapulted Saxon into the media spotlight. He’d been pushing the first contact agenda hard, and it was gaining him a disturbing amount of traction, both within Westminster and without. Inside of a month, he’d ditched the Conservatives to run for PM as an independent. It was insane, and Jack quietly suspected he was going to win, too.

‘I’ll admit she’s got a point,’ Jack reassured her. ‘It’s fishy, I just don’t think it’s Torchwood fishy.’

Gwen shook her head. ‘It’s _weird_ , Jack. It’s like the whole country’s gone nuts. And why’s he so interested in Torchwood anyway?’

‘Probably because we’re the ones who’ll have to bail him out once he’s in over his head,’ Jack shrugged. ‘Or maybe he’s worried I’m going to leak a sex tape.’

There was a moment of quiet between them. The chill radiated through the thin glass, and Gwen crossed her bare arms around herself. She was chewing the inside of her cheek, visibly hesitating, and then the words tumbled out. ‘Tell me, Jack. The others are starting to think you’ve colluded with him. You’ve got to tell me what this is about.’

Genuinely astonished, Jack’s mouth hung open. ‘What? Who the hell came up with _that_?’

She clearly wasn’t about to tell him.

‘We do each other favours, Gwen, and mostly the sexual kind. It’s not like I’m heading a coup with him!’

Gwen searched his face, looking for an answer to a question Jack barely understood. ‘That might be good enough reason for you, Jack. But not for us.’

Somewhere, the peal of cutlery striking glassware rang out, and the undercurrent of noise ground to a halt. They ducked around the drinks table, just in time to see Saxon take the stage, a glass of champagne balanced in one hand.

‘Friends,’ he began, beaming, ‘esteemed colleagues, guests. I couldn’t be more delighted to have you with me tonight. Each and every one of you are the reason I stand here; your hard work, support, and dedication. I want to share a toast – because this dream of ours, this vision for our country, belongs to all of you who made this possible.’

Arms still held defensively crossed against her body, Gwen half–elbowed, half–punched Jack. ‘I hate speeches,’ she hissed.  

-

It was an hour later when Gwen and Jack were pulled aside by one of the waitstaff and ushered behind velvet ropes to a side–room. Here, the crowd was smaller and particularly enthusiastic, marinating in bottles of Veuve that looked decidedly more expensive than what had been circulating earlier.

To one side was Saxon, snappier–than–usual in bowtie and pleated shirt, belly–laughing with someone Jack remembered going viral after he’d nodded off during Question Time. Saxon didn’t catch sight of them, didn’t turn around, but still straightened up and excused himself as if receiving some covert signal they’d arrived.

He bounced over and shook Jack’s hand with delight. ‘Ah! Captain Harkness. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it.’

Shook Jack’s hand with delight, and with his gloves still on. Odd choice. Then again, odd guy. ‘You know me, I never miss a party,’ Jack smiled, and if he’d hesitated a little choosing the word _party_ , Saxon didn’t seem to notice.

Actually, he didn’t seem to notice much at all beyond Gwen standing next to him. He looked straight through Jack, cataloguing his way down Gwen’s body with unwelcome familiarity – and she was having absolutely none of it.

‘You must be Ms Cooper,’ Saxon simpered, offering her his hand. Gwen pointedly didn’t take it.

‘It’s Gwen, actually. Gwen Cooper, Torchwood.’ she said, emphasising the latter like a threat.

With easy grace, Saxon repurposed his outstretched hand to gesture at a vacant chair. ‘It’s a pleasure, Gwen. I’ve heard _so_ much about you. Won’t you take a seat? I’d love to know how you met our Captain, here.’

Gwen cocked her head at him. ‘I met him at work. What with him being my boss, you see. But I suppose you wouldn’t know that, rich young bloke like you, when did you last need to work?’

Jack winced. He’d expected Saxon to level one of those scathing insults at her, and was taken aback to see him laugh instead. Even more surprised to hear it sound genuine. A twinkle in his eye, Saxon nodded graciously. ‘Oh, I can see why he picked you.’

Gwen opened her mouth, about to fire off another retort, but through some divine act of intervention she was interrupted by a pair of arms grabbing Saxon from behind and nearly tugging him off his feet in an embrace. They belonged to a slender woman, smartly–dressed in a beige pantsuit and delicate gold jewellery, and Saxon twisted in her grasp to plant a wet kiss over her mouth—okay, in her mouth. And neither of them seemed about to stop any time soon. Maybe he was digging a hole to China in there. She pushed another glass of champagne into Saxon’s hands when at last they broke apart.

Beaming, Saxon hooked an arm around her shoulders. ‘Here she is, my Lucy. Isn’t she beautiful?’

Deep blue eyes, high cheekbones, and a figure like a mannequin – how could she be anything but? Jack gave her his best smile and offered a hand. Delicately, Lucy laid her palm over his, and Jack drew her knuckles to his lips. ‘You look absolutely stunning,’ Jack murmured, and when Gwen’s eyes threatened to pop out their sockets, he added, ‘See? You’ve made Gwen speechless.’

She laughed, a harsh bark that stood at odds with her powdery voice. ‘Harry _did_ say you were a charmer.’

‘I’d hate to disappoint,’ Jack agreed.

Recovered, Gwen drew up a sweet smile of her own, and perfunctorily shook Lucy’s hand. ‘How’s married life?’

‘Oh,’ Lucy began, gazing up at Saxon, ‘It’s grand, isn’t it? I do wish we’d had more time for the honeymoon. I suppose after the election we’ll travel more in any case.’

Saxon gave her a quick squeeze and a peck on the forehead. ‘Of course we will, darling. Anywhere you like. How about the moon? You’d love to visit the moon, wouldn’t you?’

Lucy laughed, slipped free of his shoulder to give him a gentle elbow. She lingered there, held by his eyes, until she had to bite her lip and duck her gaze. Like it was unbearable to only look at her lover and refrain from acting on it. ‘Isn’t he unbelievable? Always such a romantic.’

‘Oh, he’s unbelievable alright,’ Gwen rolled her eyes, and gave Jack a scathing look. ‘I’m going to chat with these lovely gentlemen over here. Promise me I can leave you alone for _one minute_ , Jack?’

Jack gave her his best apologetic smile. ‘Promise,’ he agreed.

There’d be hell to pay back at the Hub. And if Gwen was right, possibly mutiny.

‘What do you think, my dear? Isn’t he handsome?’ Saxon mouthed, a stage whisper against Lucy’s ear.

Oh, but Jack had a _very_ good feeling about this.

-

His very good feeling amounted to nothing more than a few free drinks, and three hours of watching Mr. and Mrs. Saxon canoodle their way through increasingly stale conversation.

And if that wasn’t punishment enough, of course, there was Gwen.

‘Racist _and_ adulterer,’ she spat over the phone, ‘You think that’s bad, just wait till you hear what else I’ve got to say.’

‘Worse than you and Owen?’ Jack muttered.

Gwen audibly spluttered with outrage. ‘God, Jack, you absolute bastard. You are such a cunt, do you realise that? No, really. I’m trying to help you, and that’s all you have to say to me?’

Hand already pressed to his head, Jack found it squeezing down his face. ‘I’m sorry, Gwen. Low blow.’

‘I heard something about Saxon buying up shares in nuclear energy,’ Gwen began, ‘But wait ‘til you hear where the money’s going to.’

‘Saxon’s pockets?’ Jack suggested. Damn – he’d already missed the last train.

‘Nope,’ Gwen said brightly, ‘Nepal.’

All thoughts of night buses promptly exited Jack’s mind. ‘You’re joking.’

He could hear the I–told–you–so smirk. ‘Nope.’

‘What, like an offshore account for tax evasion?’ Jack wondered, pausing in the middle of the street. His breath was misting in front of him, the asphalt wet from fog.

‘More like an offshore mining project, and the climate minister says it’s going to save the world or some rubbish,’ Gwen said. ‘Who’d build a nuclear power plant on Mount bloody Everest?’

Not anybody Jack could think of. Not for another few hundred years, at least, when the resource crisis really went to shit. ‘Someone willing to fight the UN _and_ the laws of Nature to make a giant loss,’ Jack replied, flatly. ‘You’re right – it’s weird. Might even be Torchwood weird.’

‘Hold on,’ he added, his BlackBerry buzzing, ‘I’m getting another call.’

He took a quick glance at the screen – private number – and tapped the answer key.

‘Captain?’ Oh. Of _course_ it was.

Jack tucked the phone back between his shoulder and ear. ‘Hey, can I call you back? I’m a little busy.’

‘You could,’ Saxon replied, drew a sharp breath, and added, ‘but I won’t be answering.’

Over the line, he could hear someone’s soft pants. A stifled moan.

He was half–tempted to hang up. Half–tempted to—oh, who cared? Like he could make it any worse. ‘Depends, are you gonna ask me to join you?’

A giggle, the sound of a hand smacking flesh. ‘You’d have to ask Lucy. She did enjoy meeting you—stop that!’

‘Now? Jeez, you couldn’t have asked _before_ I was halfway across London?’ Jack complained.

Saxon’s voice now sounded further away, like he’d put the call on speaker. ‘Why, what were you so busy with?’

‘Aliens,’ Jack said. Because sooner or later, it usually ended up being true. ‘I can multitask.’

‘Mmm,’ came a rumble over the phone, and underneath that a set of muffled, high–pitched moans. And if Jack listened for it, he could make out those quick, restrained breaths he recognised as Saxon’s when he was—

A guttural sigh, stop. Slow release of air.

Jack’s dick twitched in his pants. ‘Did you just _come_?’

‘You expected me to wait for you? Lucy, look here, you’ve made a mess,’ Saxon continued, blithe as anything.

God help him, it was irritating as it was hot. Jack ducked around a corner, out of the wind, and dialled the volume up a few notches.

‘No, no touching,’ Saxon was saying, ‘Not until you’ve satisfied the nice man, too.’ Jack could hear a whimper in protest to that, and something that sounded frighteningly like _‘but Daddy!’_

Jack had no idea what he’d expected their sex life to look like. Probably Saxon burning through every trick in the book to stay closeted, and Lucy going without—either way. It definitely hadn’t looked like this.

Well, he was nothing if not versatile. And morbidly curious.

‘That’s right,’ he found himself saying, hand slipping under his belt, ‘I wanna hear you work for it.’


End file.
